Hit the Road, Jack
by Cohen101
Summary: One was better then none but then again, both were better then one. And now we had neither. Oneshot Review.


A/N: Oneshot. Nothing much, just writing. Not very long, so give it a shot, and review it. Probably not my best work, but hope you enjoy anyways.

Don't own Lost, or the title, which is a song by Ray Charles.

Hit The Road Jack

You never think that it could be you.

You go through life, thinking, oh, that's sad, tragic even, but that could never happen to me. You shrug it off, and go on with your life. That's okay. You can't worry about everyone. Worry about yourself, and the ones you care about. But who or what decides when its time for you to leave? That you've done everything in life that you've wanted to do. That you've lived life to the fullest, and it was time to go. What kind of person could have that power over you? What kind of person would think that they did? You hear about it everyday, but when it finally happens, to someone close to you, someone near you, don't you think, 'Could I be next?'

Reality hits you only a couple times in your life. And it hits you hard. How can you go through life, knowing that it will never be the same again? That every single day of your existence, there will be no more memories to laugh at? No hugs in the night when you're scared? No praise when you do well? That you can never wake up from the nightmare, the nightmare you have to go home to.

That, that one person, will be gone forever?

I once asked him how long forever was. He said that it was the amount of years it would take, if a tiny blue bird brushed past a mountain with the tip of its wing, just once a year. Forever would be the amount of time that it would take that blue bird, to erode the mountain into nothingness.

Now that was powerful. He taught me to use the word scarcely, only when I was sure. He was wise.

Some days, the hurt mellows, you even forget about it at times. Others, it's like a brick wall appeared in front of you, and corners you. Into the deepest, darkest corner of the street. And then it hits. The loneliness; the desperation; the constant ache in your chest, unexplained by medical science.

Now there's the topic of the day. Medical science, the thing that we put so much faith into. But what happens when medical science fails? You think it'll be able to fix every physical problem you could ever imagine. But what if you're too late?

I feel Mike squirm beside me and sniffle softly. I pull him gently onto my lap, and hold him tight. I've lost track of what the minister was saying, lost in my own abyss of thought. I feel bad for little Mike; he'll never know him like I did. I know what Mike will miss the most about him. When Mike had a nightmare, he would take him outside, no matter what hour. He would light the backlit of the house, and take Mike into the hammock we'd strung in between a couple of trees, and just lay there, watching the stars with Mike. He would tell Mike stories, of the island, of his job, of anything and everything until Mike fell asleep. Then he would carry him inside, and when Mike would wake up in the morning, he would be right there, snoring softly beside him, his arm over Mike's tiny shoulders.

I remember. I used to watch it happen from the top bunk of our room. Sometimes Mike would just pretend, just so he could have his daddy hold him, make him feel safe.

Someone bumps into my arm, and I send them a deathly glare. This pew is reserved for family members and close friends only. The rest of the church seems packed, some people's faces I could recognize from old newspaper clips, or dad's work, but others are unrecognizable. I notice the couple sitting down beside me from one of the newspaper clipping my daddy had kept.

"Sorry 'bout yer daddy, kiddo," the man of the couple grunts in a heavy accented voice.

"Yeah," is all I can manage, and I turn my eyes downwards. Mike's looking up at the couple, sucking his thumb and sniffling. I know he's not a baby, but sometimes he makes me wonder.

"Mommy?" he mumbles to the girl, whose cheeks redden.

"Mike," I say sharply. Our mum left us when Mike was just a year or two old, so there would be no way he could remember what she looked like. I hated her for leaving us, for abandoning us. For dumping us onto our dad, and for stepping out of our lives forever. One was better then none- but then again, both were better then one. And now we had neither.

"Sorry," I mutter to the woman, and she nods her head, smiling, though looking a bit disgruntled. I scoot away from the couple, but keep an eye on the woman. She does look familiar, and I know why Mike may have mistaken her for our mother.

Dad kept a picture of her, one that was taken when they got off the boat that rescued them from the island. I couldn't remember it very well then, because dad kept it in his room. But the woman in the picture had dark, curly hair, while this woman had light, straight hair. There was no way they could be that same person. But Mike forever afterwards insisted that it had been his mommy. It amazed me how he was able to forgive her so easily, our mother, but I guess that when you're a little kid, you don't really understand.

Then later I heard somewhere that little kids knew who their parents were, something about contact between them as babies. And I knew my mother had always carried Mike around with her, until she had left us all to die, so maybe he was right.

And sometimes- after the funeral- I would see that same woman, the one who sat by us. Sometimes she would have curly hair, sometimes straight, but always accompanied with a hat and sunglasses, watching us from the walk across our grandma's house.

And I get the distinct feeling that she's watching just Mike and me. Watching us grow up.

Then the weirdest thing happened.

It was when I was moving to collage, halfway across the country, that I went into dad's room again, but only to say goodbye. No one had been in it for years; I don't think anyone had been strong enough. Everything was exactly the same, just as he'd left it. With the exception of everything layered with about an inch of dust.

The photo- the one with our mother- was sitting on the drawer, just where he'd left it. I picked it up, and the frame it was in had the name 'Kate' engraved. He'd never gotten over her, my dad. He had trouble letting go of things.

When I was getting into the car with Mike- who was driving me to the airport, the lady was there again. The one that Mike had before thought was our mother.

But she wasn't wearing sunglasses this time, and I could see her eyes. They were tearing, but I didn't know why. Maybe it was that I was crazy, but when we drove past her, I could see some of Mike in her. They both had the same green eyes. I raised my hand half-heartedly, and she waved goodbye back to me shyly, a small smile on her face.

It was dad's 25th anniversary… of being dead. It never made sense to me, how someone could have an anniversary of being dead. But I went anyway, cause my Grandma needed me. Needed us. It was cold and stormy that day, and we went to his grave and laid down flowers, and lit a candle.

It was a touching moment, and I think everyone there cried at least once. We were all leaving, but I saw someone in the corner of my eye. It was that lady. The one I waved goodbye to when I was leaving for college. She was older now, and she had darker hair, with gray splashes. She was the same woman, so I gathered that she used to dye her hair. I turned around, and no one questioned what I was doing.

Over the years, I found that there was always a reason for everything. That my mother wouldn't have left us behind unless she had a good reason to.

I wasn't angry with her anymore. After all, if what I thought was right, then she had watched us grow up, and had a part, if however distant, in our lives.

The lady didn't notice me coming up behind her, but I could tell she was crying. I wrapped my arms around her midriff, and she was surprised at first, but then fell into me. I felt it then, and I knew.

This was my mother- and she hadn't ever gotten over my dad either.

Not really.

Cohen101

_-Hit The Road Jack-_


End file.
